NOW  AND  THEN 


I SPOKEN  AT  THE  JUNIOR  EXHIBITION  OF  TRIN- ' 
ITY  COLLEGE,  ON  WEDNESDAY,  AUG.  1,  1849. 


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By  Gf  T/  RIDER 

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Published  for  the  Author* 


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AND  THEN.” 

A POEM, 


DELIVERED  AT  THE  JUNIOR  EXHIBITION  OF  TRINITY  COU- 
LEGE,  ON  WEDNESDAY  EVENING,  AUG.  1,  1849. 


BY  GEORGE  T.  RIDER. 


I stood  beside  a poet’s  lonely  grave 
In  the  deep  mazes  of  the  solemn  woods, 

Far  from  the  haunts  of  worldly  care  and  toil. 

A stranger’s  hand  had  reared  a simple  cross 
Of  stone  above  the  dead,  wherever  the  moss 
And  trailing  vines  had  wrought  a living  vest 
Of  beauty ; ’till  the  wealth  of  leaf  and  bud 
Had  well  nigh  hid  the  marble’s  mournful  tale. 

This  was  its  its  record : “ Of  a broken  heart 

i_p 

“ He  died — -just  in  the  Spring-tide  of  his  days 
4 “ The  wondrous  promise  of  maturer  years 
j “ Was  crushed,  and  as  he  prayed  that  he  might  rest 
4 “ Away  from  men  in  solitude  like  this, 
rj  “ A stranger’s  heart  hath  listened  to  his  prayer.” 


£ Above  my  head  the  rugged  ancient  trees 
Had  joined  their  brawny  limbs  in  many  an  arch, 
And  as  the  light  came  struggling  through  the  roof 
^Of  leaves  and  gorgeous  fret-work,  far  adown 
^ The  long-drawn  aisles,  till  all  was  lost  in  gloom. 


2 


I seemed  within  a Minster  holier  far 
Than  aught  that  man  had  ever  reared  a shrine 
Not  made  with  hands.  The  flowers  around  me 
breathed 

Their  praise  of  incense,  while  the  cheerful  lark 
With  the  full  throng  of  warbling  choristers 
Joined  in  the  Matin  and  the  Even’  song. 

Me  thought  the  cold  indifference  of  men 
Had  been  a blessing ; — they  had  spurned  his  name 
When  living,  and  condemned  his  dust,  they  thought , 
To  sleep  unwept,  uncared  for,  and  unknown  ; 

No  patron’s  pride  had  reared  a storied  tomb 

Above  him — the  reward  of  flatteries 

Thus  cheaply  bought — his  name  almost  unwrit ; 

Yet  could  those  lips  that  once  gave  life  to  song 
Again  take  up  their  strains  of  4 long  ago,’ 

Me  thinks  a psalm  of  sweet  thanksgiving  would 
Be  heard  throughout  that  holy  Fane  of  God 
For  such  a resting  place. 

Can  lifeless  stone, 

Although  beneath  the  artist’s  skill  it  gains 
Some  glimpse  of  meaning  tortured  into  life 
Add  to  the  glory  of  the  noble  dead  % 

Time  grapples  with  this  thoughtless  pride,  and  gives 
Its  tinsel  gewgaws  to  the  bats  and  owls, 

And  sends  dark  Ruin  with  her  Vandal  hordes 
To  riot  in  its  loveliness  and  strength. 

And  yet  this  humble  mound — fit  monument 
For  one  44  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown,” 

Shall  more  than  serve  to  keep  his  memory — 

The  guerdon  of  an  Immortality 

Is  his  ; for  as  each  spoken  word  they  say 

Thrills  through  the  vast  infinity  of  air, 


3 


And  so  shall  thrill  in  cadence  tremulous 
’Till  air  and  earth  and  flood  shall  be  consumed ; 

So  he  who  wakes  one  holy,  blissful  thought 
Within  the  heart,  that  harp  of  many  strings, 

Hath  called  a joy  to  life  for  earth  and  Heaven  ! 
And  then  the  impulse  hastens  to  its  home 
In  sweet  reunion  with  the  angel  world, 

And  there  shall  mingle  with  its  own  forever. 

It  is  a holy  trust,  this  gift  of  song, 

And  bringeth  to  the  heart  where  it  abides 
A mingled  company  of  smiles  and  tears  ; 

It  opens  to  the  vision  of  the  soul 

The  spirit  life  around  us — through  create, 

It  sees  the  increate — the  mystic  realms 
Of  pure  intelligence  there  deeply  traced : 

The  world  is  peopled  all  anew, — beings 
Of  beauty  cheer  its  solitude — around 
Its  noonday  walks  they  meet  when  throngs 
Of  plodding  men  are  selling  joy  and  youth, 

The  sunshine  of  their  little  span,  for  gold 
And  things  that  perish.  In  the  open  fields, 

Yea,  in  each  blade  and  petal,  truths  as  vast 
As  human  destiny  are  writ ; it  scans 
Each  meaning  page  of  this  great  volume — reads 
Pourtrayed  therein  the  fearful  mysteries 
That  gather  round  the  soul,  its  life,  its  home, 

Its  journeying  through  Time, — but  more — it  sees 
The  beatific  impress  of  its  God ! 

As  far  as  sense  can  penetrate  the  same 
Mysterious  blazonry  of  truth — the  same 
Eternal  witness  of  Almighty  power 


4 


Drapes  the  stern,  rugged  frame-work  of  the  world 
In  robes  of  holy  beauty  ! — Go  beyond 
The  luxury  of  boundless  forests,  fields, 

Flowers,  babbling  brooks — a wilderness  of  joys, 
Where  beauty  vainly  seeking  here  below 
Her  full  embodiment,  leaves  grosser  forms, 

And  robes  the  skies  with  splendors  manifold, 

The  imaged  pomp  of  Heaven’s  all-glorious  homes — 
Strive  with  the  Ocean  in  its  calm  and  rage, 

When  terror  sits  enthroned  on  stillness — or 
Its  waters  meet  in  revelry  sublime ; 

With  wary  step  within  that  frozen  world 
Advance,  where  one  dread  night  of  silence  reigns — 
Mark  with  thy  wondering  eye  its  gorgeous  domes 
And  crystal  palaces  upreared  to  Heaven, 

Decked  with  the  Rainbow’s  captive  tints,  and  ask 
Thyself,  “ Who  placed  them  there  V — in  this  cold 
waste 

Of  desolation,  beauty  reigns  supreme — 

For  God  is  every  where. — 

And  yet  the  world 

Lives  on  in  all  this  loveliness  of  form, 

In  all  this  sweet  companionship  of  beauty, 

Blind  to  its  high  estate,  like  one  content 
To  sit  and  slumber  at  the  gates  of  Heaven  ; 

For  Heaven  with  all  its  splendors  lies  around, 

Above  the  sightless,  dormant  soul,  and  spreads 
Its  beauties  forth  on  every  side ; the  world 
Blindfolded  gropes  among  them,  and  perchance 
When  one  more  lucky  than  his  fellows  meets 
A struggling  sunbeam  from  this  nobler  sphere, 

He  chuckles  o’er  his  wealth  and  fondly  deems 
That  he  alone  is  wise — his  brothers,  fools ! 


5 


Among  the  petty  strife  /of  nations,  he  who  gains 
A field  on  battle — wrests  a crown, 

Or  writes  his  valor  in  a people’s  blood 
Men  love  to  laud,  they  deck  him  in  the  pomp 
Of  dignity  and  gorgeous  circumstance — 

^ Pay  to  the  Despot  homage  due  to  God : 

And  when  he  dies,  preserve  his  hateful  name 
In  splendid  characters  upon  a tomb 
Above  the  story  of  his  victories  ; 

As  men  record  a year  of  pestilence 

And  plague  in  marble  by  the  deaths  it  wrought ! 

Three  thousand  years  ago ! and  can  it  be 
So  many  ages  well  renowned  in  arms, 

In  art,  in  science,  and  in  song,  have  gone 
From  hence  to  be  no  more  since  thou  sublime 
Old  man  of  Chios’  sea-girt  isle — gave  forth 
Thy  wondrous  lays — to  wondering  Theban  throngs, 
For  the  mean  pittance  of  thy  daily  bread ! 

Poor,  blind,  despised  beggar  ! yet  thy  name 
Flath  never  ceased  to  grow  in  brightness — Fame 
Hath  made  thy  memory  her  own,  and  men 
* Have  garnered  up  thy  musings  in  their  hearts, 

As  misers  hoard  up  gold  and  gems. — Princes, 

The  mighty  men  of  earth,  who  sleep  in  tombs 
Of  regal  splendor,  are  but  worthless  dust 
Compared  with  thee,  who  hast  a resting  place 
Within  the  deathless  soul — most  trusty  monument ! 
A strain  sublimer  yet  than  thine  the  world 
Hath  heard — kingdoms  and  thrones,  the  pomp  of  war, 
Conquest  and  victory — a nation’s  life — 

These  are  the  meaner  theme  that  cluster  round 
The  soul  of  truth,  their  central  sun — like  moons 


6 


In  borrowed  robes  of  beauty ; when  this  germ 
Shall  wax  to  fruitful  ripeness,  He  who  gave 
It  being  from  His  fulness  shall  destroy 
The  crumbling,  worn  out  universe,  and  purge 
With  fire,  Perfection,  prisoned  in  such  gross 
And  sensual  habiliments. 

There  is 

An  Everlasting  world  above  of  pure 
Intelligence,  where  change,  corruption,  death, 

The  moth  of  Time,  can  work  no  ravages  ; 

The  mountains  lifting  from  the  meaner  earth 
Their  barren  peaks — the  dream-like  mists  that  fiee 
The  cold  embrace  of  ocean,  and  mount  up 
On  high  and  spread  their  thousand  colored  sails 
Out  on  the  shoreless  ocean  of  the  sky, 

In  concert  with  all  voices  of  the  world, 

Tell  of  a higher  and  a holier  life. 

’Twas  thine  mysterious  bard,  whose  muse  on  Faith’s 
Strong  pinions  sought  and  found  the  courts  of  Heaven 
And  gazed  upon  the  new  Jerusalem, 

And  heard  the  harmonies  of  Seraphs — felt 
The  mingling  of  all  hallowed  souls  with  thine, 

To  touch  such  themes  as  angels  well  might  love. 
With  thy  poor  dust  this  atom  globe  shall  fade 
And  melt  away  even  as  a torch  just  spent ; 

Yet  from  the  wreck,  Eternal  Truth  within 
Thy  song  embodied  shall  spread  wide  her  wings, 

On  the  dark  night  of  Time’s  oblivion, 

And  gather  brightness  as  it  nears  the  throne 
Of  God.  Angels  have  lost  their  crowns  of  light, 
And  used  the  glories  of  their  heavenly  birth 
In  impious  contest  with  the  majesty 
Of  Him  who  gave  them — thus  one  gifted  son 


« 


7 


Of  song,  bright  in  his  soul’s  investiture 
Of  loveliness — who  sung  as  few  have  sung, 
Flung  from  his  brow  the  Coronal  of  Truth  $ 
With  renowned  -scorn  reviled  the  holy  book 
Of  God,  and  o’er  the  warm  and  heart-born  life 
Of  Christian  faith,  the  foul  pollution  cast 
Of  God  defying,  reckless  unbelief. 

The  splendid  ravings  of  his  frenzied  brain 
Give  melancholy  proof  how  Shelley  once 
Knelt  at  the  shrine  of  Nature  and  of  God. 

We  wonder  not — the  very  sky  above 
Nurtures  the  evening  dew,  the  light  of  noon 
In  strange  companionship  with  sweeping  storm 
And  lightnings  gleam— and  yet  the  wildest  rage 
Of  the  fierce  elemnets  arrayed  in  battle, 
Together  with  the  sweetest  woodland  notes, 
Proclaim  of  God ; the  one  of  majesty, 

Supreme,  the  other,  blest  beatitude 
And  love. 

And  thus  a tuneful  brotherhood 
Have  served  the  sacred  mysteries  of  Truth, 

And  in  secret  numbers  sung  to  every  age 
* The  burning  visions  of  their  raptured  souls — 
Reflected  light  that  God  vouchsafes  to  send 
Through  the  dark  veil  of  this  old  dying  world, 
Of  the  superior  glories  that  shall  be. 

And  as  this  song  has  throbbed  with  holy  life, 
Forshown  what  Reason  trembles,  to  deny 
Of  its  Eternity,  the  faithful  heart 
Of  the  whole  world  has  known  its  mighty  sway, 
And  felt  as  did  the  Patriarch  of  old, 

Who  held  communion  once  with  An^el  quests 
And  knew  it  not ! 


8 


The  scarlet  robe  of  wealth, 

The  jeweled  sceptre,  and  the  crown  of  state, 

Would  ill  become  the  poet.  Luxury 
Might  sully  with  its  earthiness  the  themes 
That  claim  the  homage  of  his  soulful  lyre ; 

God  gave  the  gift,  and  with  it  gave  content. 

Pile,  then,  the  marble  o’er  the  great  that  die, 

And  keep  the  record  of  each  brilliant  act 
In  the  mean  coffers  such  base  coin  deserves  : 

Give  dust  to  dust ! hang  drapery  as  frail 

As  the  poor  spider’s  gossamer  on  all 

That  needs  such  trappings — Death  will  claim  its  own. 

The  Son  of  song  hath  built  a monument 
Stronger  than  brass — above  the  wreck  of  Time  ; 
Majestic  made  with  emblems  fashioned 
From  deathless  spirit,  crowned  with  wreaths  well 
wrought 

Of  beauties  that  shall  last  forever. 

Earth 

May  oft  forget  that  he  hath  lived  or  died, 

And  yet  it  matters  not ; this  April  day 
Of  the  immortal  soul  below,  though  dark 
Or  bright,  is  but  a pulse-stroke  of  its  being. 
Chaunting  his  dirge-like  triumph  he  shall  pass 
The  darkling  shadows  of  the  vale  of  Death ; 

With  nobler  powers  his  purer  songs  employ 
At  Heaven’s  high  gate,  and  join  the  tuneful  throng 
In  lays  long  loved,  though  faintly  heard  before. 


FINIS. 


